


Slowly, Then All At Once

by Elthadriel



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Discussions of death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad gay cowboys are sad and gay, Self-Worth Issues, canon spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-25 11:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18260159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elthadriel/pseuds/Elthadriel
Summary: As the camp at Beaver Hollow becomes more and more unbearable Charles and Arthur slip away and discuss what might have been.





	Slowly, Then All At Once

**Author's Note:**

> I live and breath angst and RDR2 just lends itself so well to that.
> 
> Title from Sleeping at Last's Sorrow. Literally all of my titles are from SaL lyrics these days.

Arthur could feel the eyes of the others on him as he coughed, awful hacking coughs that made his head spin and his vision blur. For an terrible second vertigo took him, and he thought he might pass out. He leant against a wagon, desperately trying to keep his feet under him.

 

The world slid back into focus, and he was left feeling like he’d run from Rhodes to Valentine without stopping.

 

He didn’t need to look to know Micha was smirking and he didn’t know if his smugness was better or worse than the others with their fuckin’ pity.

 

He didn’t know how much longer he was going to be able to keep this up, pretending this was something that would pass, pretending he could still be useful. A very different pain tightened in his chest at the thought of becoming a burden.

 

This isn’t how he wanted to die.

 

Charles had said he had been handed a gift, a chance to turn his life around before the end, but he was selfish enough to wish he'd gone out quick and sudden like Sean or Jenny. Dying was hard enough without the fear heavy on his shoulders and the guilt gnawing in his gut.

 

He didn’t like feeling like a coward.

 

He drew in a sharp, desperate breath before coughing again, his chest burning, his throat raw. If the others didn’t stop looking at him he was going to--

 

“Arthur.” Charles hand was warm on his shoulder, even through the layers of clothing he had taken to wearing to hide how much weight he’d lost. “I might have a job and I’ll need a second pair of hands.”

 

Charles pity didn’t taste as bitter as the others, and he nodded, probably too damn eagerly. Arthur grabbed his hat and followed after Charles, legs still just a little unsteady. He didn’t trust himself to speak, unwilling to hear how hoarse his voice would be.

 

Iris nudged him gently with her head as he fumbled clumsily with her saddle, tightening the strap around her girth, before swinging himself up onto her back; even his fucking horse was worried about him.

 

Charles lead the way down the path from camp, starting at a slow trot before urging Tiama faster as they got a little further away. Arthur’s skin itched, swearing half the camp was watching him leave; at least no one said anything.

 

“What’s the job,” Arthur called as soon as he trusted himself to talk without coughing. He swore breathing was easier away from camp, as the if the tension in the air was tangible.

 

“No job,” Charles slowed to a trot, falling back to ride side by side with Arthur. “I just needed away from there and figured you did too.”

 

Arthur squinted at Charles from under the brim of his hat. Probably more for his benefit than Charles was admitting, but he didn’t doubt the truth of it, no one wanted to be at camp right now.

 

“So where we goin’, if not a job?”

 

“I didn’t have anywhere in mind.”

 

Arthur leaned forward to rub the side of Iris’ neck. They couldn’t be away for too long; it was all going to come crumbling down around them sooner than later, and he couldn’t ignore his duty, but fuck, he wanted a night away from all of it.

 

He’d been slipping away a lot in the last couple of weeks, finding jobs when he could, and excuses when he couldn’t. He thought of Hamish, buried up by his cabin, how fishing and hunting with him had reminded him of spending time with Dutch and Hosea, before everything had gone to shit.

 

“There’s a cabin up by O'Creagh's Run to the west, but it’s a bit of a ride.”

 

Charles nodded, face as thoughtful as always. “We’d have to spend the night.”

 

“If you can put up with my ugly mug that long.” His tongue felt a little too big in his mouth, anxious in a way he didn’t like. Spending time with Charles was easy, natural in a way he wasn’t used to, like he’d known him for years rather than months, but sometimes he would say things like that, stumbling just a little too close to clumsy flirtation.

 

And fuck, he never was any good at that.

 

Charles smiled, rolling his eyes fondly. “Lead the way.”

 

Arthur squeezed his heels into Iris’ side, and with a click of his tongue, Charles was just behind him.

 

\---

 

He hadn’t expected to come back here after burying Hamish. He’d ridden Buell down to Scarlett Meadows and paid the stables there generously to keep an eye on him. Arthur felt guilty for not keeping him at camp, but he didn’t have the time to spare getting a grumpy horse to warm up to him when he had Iris right here.

 

If he somehow managed to get out of the approaching storm alive he would go collect him, take him wherever he ended up spending the last of his days.

 

The sun was starting to set behind the mountains as he led them down to the cabin, dismounting and hitching Iris to a post, removing some of her gear.

 

“How’d you find this place?” Charles asked, following suit with Taima, removing her saddle and throwing it over the fence.

 

“Belonged to an old man I came across, he invited me up here a couple times ‘fore he died,” Arthur grunted. The ride had tired him in a way it wouldn’t have before, and the realisation weighed heavily on him.

 

“You think you can catch us something to eat?” He couldn’t bring himself to admit how exhausted what even a month ago would have been a relatively easy ride had left him, not even to Charles. Asking Charles to do the work for him was as good as saying it though.

 

“Of course, get a fire started.” Charles pulled his bow from his saddle, clapping Arthur on the shoulder as he passed.

 

\---

 

Arthur had never really seen the appeal in Dutch and Hosea’s talk of retirement, not until the last year or so. This life as a wanted man on the move was all he’d ever known and living peacefully sounded boring at best. Was his change of heart a sign of maturity or resignation?

 

Cooking rabbits over the fire with Charles, with memories of the days he’d spent up here with Hamish made the quiet life even more appealing.

 

It was a nice dream, living up here, fishing and hunting for most of what they needed, selling what they caught for everything else. The last month had been filled with revelations that had come just a little too late to ever be realised; this would just have to be another.

 

“Dutch won’t be happy if we come back with nothing to show for it,” Charles said, ending the silence between them. They often went without talking, which suited Arthur just fine. It was a far sight different from the tense quiet of camp, everyone too caught up in their own panic to speak least they reveal all of their fears to everyone in hearing range.

 

With Charles it was just peaceful.

 

“I got some money off some small jobs, been meaning to put it in the box. Tell Dutch we stole it off a stagecoach.” He wouldn’t question it, once because he trusted Arthur completely, now because he didn’t seem to care enough to think on it at all.

 

He and John had always fought to be the favourite, and it had seemed so important back then. Now Micha had dethroned them both it felt like such a pathetic waste of time. How much of his life had he spent clambering for the attention of a man who had cast him aside so quickly?

 

The worst of it was he’d still do pretty much anything Dutch asked him of him, too stupid to recognise a lost cause when he saw one, or naive enough to think that if he just stuck by Dutch a little longer, loved him a little more, he could pull him back from the brink.

 

Either way he came out looking like a damn fool.

 

“You all right, Arthur?” Charles asked, leaning forward, the light in the fireplace casting a warm glow on his skin. This would all be easier if Charles wasn’t so damn attractive.

 

“Yeah, just brooding. This shit with Dutch…” he trailed off. They’d talked about this before, been over it again and again, there were more pressing issues. Arthur had a number amount of conversations left, and who knew when he’d next be alone with Charles, he’d be damned if he wasted one more on Dutch. “And this shit with us.”

 

He’d never thought he’d be able to say it so bluntly, but as terrified of dying as he was, he had apparently become braver in other ways. After all, what did he have left to lose?

 

“Ah.” Charles sat back in his seat, staring down at the remains of the rabbit on one of the plates they’d looted from Hamish’s cupboards. “I wondered if we’d ever talk about that.”

 

Arthur laughed humourlessly. “Didn’t want to, never was good at talking about feelings and such. Figured we’d either fall into bed and not have to talk about it, or I’d try something and you’d kick me upside the head for gettin’ the wrong idea.”

 

Charles laughed more genuinely than Arthur had managed. “You really thought that was a possibility?”

 

Arthur shrugged, pulling his chin down to his chest, using the rim of his hat to hide some of his face. “Always a chance wishful thinkin’ made me see somethin’ that weren’t there.”

 

“There was something there,” Charles said. The fire was starting to fade, shadows growing in the corner of the cabin with each passing moment and neither of them moved to provide it with more fuel. “I’m sweet on you, Arthur.”

 

Arthur had known, he’d known for a while, but hearing it said caused his insides to twist. He’d have been happy to hear that once, he supposed, but now it felt unfair. He had spent his whole life knowing that each job could be his last, he thought he’d lived his life like that, leaving few loose ends, not starting things he couldn’t finish. Mary had been a mistake, giving him attachments he didn’t want to part from, and Isaac.

 

He’d been so careful those couple of years, terrified of dying with people who might miss him, with people who deserved far more than he could ever be, but something was still better than nothing.

 

His whole life he had felt like he was living on borrowed time, but now his future was laid out in front of him, a definitive end looming closer and closer and _it just_ _wasn’t enough._

Charles had wanted him, in the same way he wanted Charles, and two months ago that would have meant something. Now it tasted bitter in his mouth.

 

He was too late.

 

“I should’ve done something sooner.”

 

“We have time,” Charles lied. He had always been honest, as far as Arthur could tell, but he couldn’t hold this lie against him.

 

Arthur opened his mouth to answer, but fate had a sense of humour and he coughed instead, the awful sound filling the small space.

 

“I’m not gonna let you hold my hand while I die.” He wouldn’t die in a bed, he’d do anything to avoid it; pick a fight with the goddamn Pinkertons or the US army, or some shit little gang, anything to avoid that fate. He didn’t think Charles would approve of such a plan.

 

Charles swallowed, pain flickering across his face, and Arthur realised how aggressive he’d sounded. Maybe it was for the best they’d never get a chance to see where this might have gone; Arthur had a knack of hurting people close to him.

 

“It’s no one’s fault,” Charles said at last. “We didn’t know we had a time limit, if we had, we could have, I’d have-”

 

“Yeah,” Arthur said, cutting him off. He’d been down that road himself, replaying every interaction, ever missed opportunity.

 

They’d almost kissed back in Shady Bell in the party following bringing Jack home.

 

It hasn’t been as lively as celebrating Sean’s return, relief overshadowing joy, and the pressure of one disaster after another weighing heavily on them all. That and the sight of Sean with his head splattered across the ground sat too recent in their minds.

 

But it was still a party, and Arthur had felt almost relaxed for the first time in weeks.

 

Charles had seemed relaxed too, the kind of calm that was only notable in contrast to the tension he’d been carrying, like a bowstring drawn and never released.

 

Arthur could relate.

 

They’d stepped away from the rest of the gang, to the very edge of the property, standing too close as they shared a cigarette, hands lingering just a little too long as they passed it between themselves. It was easy flirting, safe, with plenty of plausible deniability.

 

They weren’t really talking about anything, just filling the space between them with low voices, Arthur’s eyes fixed on the line of Charles’ lips around cigarette.

 

He’d desperately wanted to kiss him.

 

Kissing men had always been riskier than kissing women. He’d misread signals from women before, and the worst it had ever led to was a sharp slap, or in one case, fleeing town with the woman’s _five_ brothers on his tail. Though, in that case, he still wasn’t sure it was her who didn’t want kissed or them not wanting her kissed; more evidence to his inability to read people.

 

The risk was higher with men; always the chance they would take it as some grave offence at what they might see as a threat to their masculinity and Arthur was clumsy enough at flirting that often the risk outweighed potential rewards.

 

He’d fooled around with men before, but he’d never felt like he did in that moment, eyes flickering between Charles hands and his mouth, hanging on every word, and it terrified him. He hadn’t felt this way about a man before, hell, he hadn’t felt this way about a woman except Mary and here was a nagging anxiety that he wasn’t really built for romance.

 

He couldn’t give Mary what she wanted, and he had no reason to think Charles would be any different. Caught between fear of rejection and the inevitable changes to their friendship it would bring, and the even more terrifying anxiety of having his affection returned only for the reality of who he was to disappoint had kept him paralyzed each time before this.

 

But they’d been stood so close, Arthur would only need to tilt his head and close that final couple of inches between them.

 

He’s been thinking about Charles’ mouth a lot lately.

 

Charles’ shoulder was against his, the friendly space between them vanishing; they were so close Arthur could feel the warmth of Charles’ breath on his skin, even in the heavy heat of Lemoyne.

 

They finished the cigarette and neither of them made a move to light another.

 

Charles’ hand was on his waist.

 

Charles was looking at him, their conversation faded out, the sound of the celebrations seeming far off.

 

And then Bill had stumbled out through the trees with all the grace of a drunk bison, yelling about needing somewhere to take a piss, and the moment was gone; Charles was back to a friendly distance away from him, and they’d both wandered back to the party, one long look over the fire the only evidence of what had almost occurred.

 

And then everything had started going to shit and stolen glances that hinted at something intense was all either had time for, until even those had vanished, other more pressing matters pushing all thoughts from their minds.

 

But dying had given Arthur a lot of time to think.

 

Two months later and a state away that friendly distance still hung between then, and neither of them made to close it.

 

“I keep dwelling on it though, all the ways this could have gone." Arthur fiddled with the buckle of his holster, just for something to do with his hands. "Feel like I had all the chances to do this right and fucked up every one of them."

 

He had told Charles he was dying, he was the only one he'd told, but even with Charles he couldn't get his mouth around explaining how he's gotten sick. Charles could say it was no one’s fault, but if he hadn't gone for Mr. Downes, if he'd been a better man.

 

"No one could have known," Charles said. There was a tension to his posture that made Arthur's insides twist; always hurting the people closest to him.

 

"Hosea did."

 

Charles gaze met his across the darkening room.

 

He'd been thinking about Hosea a lot too of late. There was a lot he wished he could ask Hosea; Hosea who had been sick like he was, who had seen Dutch for what he was long before any doubt had settled in any of the other minds.

 

“Hosea tried to warn me ‘bout all of this, only I was too dense to see what he was saying.” He felt like he saw Hosea more clearly now than he had at any point in the decades he’d known him; another relationship he’d left too late to fully realise. “Think he knew about us before we did, ‘fore I did for sure.”

 

Charles laughed, and it sounded real in a way that warmed Arthur’s chest. “He did, he cornered me at Clemens Point, after your run in with Colm. He said a whole lot of nothing, but I think there was a threat in there about treating you right.”

 

“He didn’t miss anything,” Arthur said. He’d always believed, without ever questioning it, that Dutch was the smartest person he’d ever met, but he was more convinced by Hosea’s quiet wisdom now than Dutch’s charisma.

 

“No, and he saw more than he shared.”

 

“Just wish we’d listened to him sooner.”

 

“We still could,” Charles said, but he didn’t sound like he considered it any more of a real possibility than Arthur did.

 

“No point running now, especially not when I might be able to help the others.”

 

Charles sighed, soft and resigned. “You’re a good man, Arthur, but you don’t need to die for them to prove it.”

 

“Why don’t you leave?” Arthur snapped back, more defensive than he’d intended; a change of heart from a dying man didn’t make up for the decades he’d spent robbing and murdering.

 

“Same as you, I suppose,” Charles said, looking at Arthur so intensely for a moment he had to look away.

 

Jesus. Was Charles staying for him or was it self-absorbed to even consider the possibility?

 

There was a question that Arthur would never be brave enough to ask: if he asked Charles to leave with him now, damn the others, would he? God, the answer to such a question would ruin him. Even worse was wondering what he would say if Charles asked him.

 

He’d said no to Mary, but the situation was different now. Or was he different? It was all muddled in his head, twisting around until he didn’t know right from wrong. He had loved Mary, loved her in a way he had never expected to feel about anyone again, but now Charles was sitting across from him, calm and strong, and Arthur…

 

He swallowed. It wasn’t love, not really, but it could have been, maybe, if they’d met in a different place or time.

 

He wanted to know what Charles’ skin would taste like, how being pinned under him would feel, wanted a lot of things he would never have now.

 

He could close the gap anyway, kiss him like he should have back at Shady Bell, but there was poison in his lungs, and the risk for one kiss was too selfish even for him.

 

They really had missed their chance.

 

The fire had burned down to embers and one of them should do something about it. Neither of them moved.

 

“When did you-” Arthur swallowed down the rest of the question, but the damage was already done.

 

“After we went hunting for Bison together,” Charles said, correctly guessing how Arthur’s question was going to end.

 

Shit. That long? Was that longer than him? He supposed he didn’t feel like there was a point he could identify when his feelings had changed.

 

 “I’d thought about you before,” Charles continued, “you’re an appealing man, but it was just idle thought, and it was different after that.”

 

Arthur swallowed, uncomfortable at being viewed as desirable; it always made him feel like he was being deceptive in some way.

 

“I figured you were pissed with me after that,” he said, which felt like the safest part of Charles admission to address.

 

“I was at first, I’d seen you kill people for lesser crimes than that, but when I asked you to you to do it for me, you refused.”

 

Arthur stared down at the floor. He hadn’t known why he’d let the poacher go; it would have been so easy to wrap his hands around the man’s throat until he stopped struggling. Charles was right, he’d done it before.

 

“Guess it just didn’t seem like you,” Arthur said. Shooting unarmed men begging for their lives was the sort of thing he did.

 

“I have almost as much blood on my hands as you, Arthur. I’ve killed plenty of innocent people.”

 

“I know, just, it didn’t seem right. Not the killin’ him part, but the whole situation.” He knew Charles was as much a criminal as the rest of them, but he never seemed as guilty as the others. Maybe it was exactly because he made no excuses for what he did.

 

“I was upset,” Charles said, not exactly agreeing but coming very close. “I wouldn’t morn him if he’d died, but I hope you’re right, about him using this chance to do better.”

 

“That still don’t explain why you weren’t pissed with me, I gave you plenty o’ reason to be.”

 

“Your faith that he could turn his life around. That sort of belief in people is rare in this life, it made me consider you more.”

 

“It weren’t like that,” Arthur said, but struggled to get straight in his head what it had been like.

 

Charles shook his head, fondly or sadly Arthur couldn’t tell. “I wish you could see yourself as I see you.”

 

Arthur wrung his hands together, staring into the fading orange of the fire. How had he been lucky enough to mislead Charles so utterly about his character and unlucky enough to never get to enjoy Charles’ misjudgement?

 

“I wish I could be that man for you.” He could never be the sort of man Charles deserved, so perhaps it was for the best the end was snapping at his heels. Perhaps death was better than dragging Charles down with him.

 

\---

 

Arthur didn’t know what finally made him stand. Only ash and cinder left in the fireplace, the pale light of the moon creeping through the windows the only thing pushing back total darkness.

 

He led the way through to the other room, the trophies of Hamish’s hunting staring down at them. The bed wasn’t particularly large, but they’d both fit, and the chance to sleep in a real bed was too good to pass up.

 

Hamish’s sheets were still on the bed, but even without the layer of dust on them, sleeping on a dead man’s sheets felt just a little too morbid. They placed their bedrolls down on the bare mattress and stripped off their outer clothes.

 

Charles took the side closest to the wall and Arthur hesitated before following; this felt too close to what he wanted and just far enough from it to be a terrible idea.

 

He’d shared beds with probably half the gang at this point, but after the honesty this felt intimate in way they hadn’t, in a way he wasn’t prepared for.

 

The darkness close around them made him looser, stripping back the layers he built around himself.

 

There were so close but the inches between them might as well have been a canyon.

 

The first time he’d told Mary he loved her was late at night, on her father’s estate, looking out over the moon reflected in the river. The darkness had made her nothing more than a dark shape against the starry sky and a warm body pressed against his side.

 

She had said it was very romantic, and Arthur had enough sense not to tell her that honesty was easier in the dark, easier when he couldn’t be seen.

 

Arthur was lying on his side, looking across the space between them, Charles mirroring his position. It would be so easy to just reach out and touch him, feel his bare skin under his hands. They had so little time left, but they had time, he just had for once in his life, be brave enough to make the first move.

 

But for what? He would have a moment’s intimacy and in return Charles would get to watch him die.

 

He stayed firmly on his side of the bed.

 

The line dividing them couldn’t make Arthur less aware of Charles’ presence however, and his heart thudded in his chest, his mouth dry. He could feel Charles looking at him, even if the darkness made sure there was nothing to see.

 

He wanted to say something, but was torn between forced casualness, to try and ease the tension between them, or lean into it, admit how much he had considered their possible future.

 

“I feel like I wasted so much of my life.” The confession hung in the air between them.

 

“Nothing you’ve done since I’ve known you has seemed like a waste.”

 

Arthur didn’t know how to explain what he meant, that he had realised his whole life had been spent trailing after a man who needed Arthur less than Arthur needed him, that he had stuck by Dutch even when it had cost him Mary, when it had cost him his son.

 

He wished between teaching him to shoot Dutch could have taken the time to think for himself. How much of his own tragedy could have been avoided if he had been just a little smarter or a little braver? Would Isaac have still been alive? Would he have told Strauss to find someone else to beat up sick men? Would he have loved Charles back when it might have mattered?

 

He hated the man Dutch had crafted him into, and himself even more for letting him.

 

Charles did what he couldn’t and reached across the space between. His hand was warm as it cupped Arthur’s jaw, calloused fingers stroking his stubble. His racing mind stilled, pulled sharply back to that moment, everything else slipping away.

 

He could make out Charles’ shape in the darkness, and just see the flickering of his eyes. His mouth was dry and while a dozen things to say leapt to the front of his mind, all of them died in his throat.

 

And then Charles withdrew his hand, and the distance between them was as impassable as before.

 

“I wish things could have been different for us,” Charles said, and fuck, he sounded so sad it made Arthur’s heart ache.

 

“Yeah,” he said, because what else was there to say? If they had met sooner, if he hadn’t got sick, if Dutch hadn’t gone crazy.

 

Charles turned away from Arthur, rolling onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, the rise and fall of his chest silhouetted against the faint moonlight slipping in the window.

 

They shouldn’t come out here, or should have brought Sadie with them, shouldn’t have tormented themselves with closeness that teetered too close to intimacy. Arthur was far too familiar with wanting things he couldn’t have, but familiarity didn’t make the devastating unfairness of it all sit any easier.

 

“I think I could have loved you.” The worlds left his mouth before his brain was finished processing them, too loud against the quiet of the night, and too honest even in the darkness.

 

Charles inhaled and then exhaled, a slight waver to the sound. Arthur wished he could take the words back, undo the cruelty of his admission. Such thoughts were better laid out in his journal were the only person they could hurt was himself.

 

“I should have kissed you back in Lemoyne, Bill be damned. I’d been thinking about it all evening, and then you just sauntered over, just drunk enough that you had forgotten to be all gruff and serious.”

 

Arthur wished he could see Charles’ face.

 

“You hadn’t cut your hair in a while, let it get longer than I’d ever seen it. You looked so handsome, Arthur.”

 

Arthur swallowed. “Now you’re just laughin’ at me,” he said, but couldn’t hit the tone he wanted.

 

“I should have kissed you.” Charles sounded so fucking resigned.

 

Arthur wondered what he would trade given the choice to have that one kiss, one memory of Charles mouth on his, the full heat of Charles’ body pressed against his.

 

It still wouldn’t have lasted.

 

He had been dying even then, he just hadn’t known it. Kissing him then would have been as damning as kissing him now, he just wouldn’t have had to feel guilty about it. They’d always been doomed, there were no better choices Arthur or Charles could have made save them.

 

The second Arthur decided he was a bad enough person to punch a sick man over a few dollars they’d been doomed.

 

All of this was his fault, all of it was what he deserved.

 

"Arthur." There was a gravity to Charles’ voice that cut through Arthur’s brooding. "I'm glad to have known you. Being your friend was an honour"

 

"Yeah," he managed. Christ, he sounded wreaked. "Yeah, you too."

 

He thought of Sadie and Lenny, and even John now he supposed. He had never been good at making connections, but he supposed he had found some true friends in the last few months; people he had faith in and who had faith in him in return. He was a better man for their influence on him. He regretted what might have been but not what was.

 

"I just wish we'd had a chance to be..." To be what? Lovers sounded like too much even after everything, sweethearts too frivolous, and partners too formal.

 

"More,” he settled on.

 

"Not more, just different."

 

That felt like an empty consolation.

 

Arthur didn't want this conversation to end, knew they might never have a chance to talk like this again, but what more could he possibly say? They could talk for weeks and nothing would change.

 

The skin in the side of his face still felt warm were Charles had touched him.

 

"We should get some sleep," he said at last, voice to loud and he was left feeling like he'd broken something precious.  

 

He turned away, onto his back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling. He felt unbelievably foolish, as though a smarter man might have been able to drag something meaningful from this conversation.

 

"Goodnight.” Charles voice sounded as loud and out of place as his had.

 

The silence felt different now, heavy and oppressive in the wake of such confessions.

 

They lay side by side and separate, neither able to find any words to ease the heartache between them, though Arthur kept trying and came up short.

 

Would he even be able to find the voice to share the words if he found them?

 

Neither of them found sleep for a long time.

 

\---

 

Arthur woke with the dawn, leaving Charles to sleep while he went to light a fire in the grate and make them some coffee. While the water boiled, he checked on the horses.

 

He pulled his hat down over his eyes, hiding from the bright sunlight.

 

Iris flicked her tail at him, butting him firmly with her head, apparently as pleased to be away from camp as he was. Taima managed to maintain indifference to him until he bribed her with an apple and then she was almost as friendly as Iris.

 

Last night didn’t feel real, the vulnerability dying with the rising sun.

 

He stroked the soft fur of Taima’s nose, squinting across the lake, the sun behind him reflecting back at him from the surface.

 

He didn’t feel different.

 

He wasn’t sure why he expected to, but it was disappointing all the same. Talking hadn’t changed the shit hand he’d been dealt, it hadn’t changed the impossibility of anything changing between him and Charles.

 

The world was as unfair today as it was yesterday.

 

He went back inside the cabin, pausing briefly to give Iris another treat as he passed.

 

Charles was awake, kneeling by the fire as he made himself a cup of coffee. He nodded at a cup already resting on the table. It was still too hot to drink, but the warmth was nice in Arthur’s hands.

 

“Do you want to head back?” Charles asked, cupping his own coffee.

 

“Not really,” Arthur mumbled. They could probably waste a few more hours up here, fish in the lake, or do something even less productive like play cards. It was a tempting thought but guilt at shirking his duty for even one night was already gnawing at him.

 

Things were getting worse with the Wapiti, and if Dutch was going to stir them up into a rage, which seemed inevitable now, Arthur wanted to be there to limit the damage as much as he could.

 

He was already a dead man, the least he could do now was save as many other people he could from his mistakes.

 

“We should leave. Who knows what shit Dutch’ll manage in a couple hours?” His coffee was still far too hot but he drained it anyway; he needed the energy more than he needed to taste anything.

 

“I’ll get the sleeping rolls. Ready the horses.” Charles was less reckless with his coffee, abandoning it on the table as he returned to Hamish’s bedroom.

 

Arthur tacked Taima up first, smiling at Iris huffing at being overlooked. She’d come such a long way from the wild, agitated animal he’d found in the mountains. She still got nervous at other people handling her, but with Arthur she was sweet, if demanding.

 

She’d taken good care of him.

 

Charles reappeared as he finished strapping Iris’ saddle to her, passing him his bedroll and attaching his own to Taima along with tucking his now empty cup in his saddle bag.

 

“I didn’t want to ask any favours from anybody.” Arthur said, not looking over at Charles, fussing with Iris’ mane instead.

 

“Anything you need, Arthur.”

 

“Once I’m gone, can you take care of her for me?” He ran his hand over her neck. He was making preparations for his friends, as best as he was able, and he wanted to make sure his horses were also taken care of. They'd ridden into gunfire on his word, making sure they were card for was the least he could do in return. “I got a couple other horses down at the stables in Scarlet Meadows, you don’t need to keep ‘em, just make sure they get good homes.”

 

"Of course," Charles said, swinging himself up onto Taima. "I'll see to it they are well loved."

 

Arthur had avoided telling anyone exactly how sick he was, letting them come to their own conclusions. He'd been scared of what knowing would do to their interactions with him, and even admitting to Charles had felt like a mistake. It was nice though, calming, to be able to talk about his death as a certainty even if only with one person. Charles had taken him at his word that he wasn't walking away from this, no insistence he would get better despite the odds.

 

He could ask Charles to do this and know he meant to uphold his agreement; not believing it wouldn't ever be necessary.

 

Arthur climbed into Iris' saddle and she shifted under him.

 

"I have your back, Arthur." Charles' voice was heavy with conviction.  "However this turns out, you'll have my support."

 

He swallowed, uncomfortable with the open emotions in the sunlight.

 

"Thanks, partner." He was going to need every friend he had if anyone was going to walk away from this alive.

 

Charles lead the up the path away from the cabin. Arthur suspected he'd never be back, imagined there were so many places he'd never see again, but he kept his eyes forward, watching the hard line of Charles' shoulders.

 

Nothing had changed, despite there long conversation, but he supposed they had been worth having anyway. Charles was right, their feelings weren't less for never being fully explored.

 

He would ride back into the camp that somewhere along the line had shifted to being his own personal hell, but he would do it with Charles at his back, and that was maybe enough to make it all worth it.


End file.
